“Now you can go an’ talk to the boys if you feel like it. Pop Burns didn’t go—said they’d have to give him a guarantee before he’d believe in any strike. He’s seen too many of ’em.”
“We want to ask Pop something, anyway,” Teddy said. “That man we found, Decker, looks enough like Pop to be his brother. He hasn’t got any relatives around here, has he, Dad?”
“Not that I know of. Better ask him. All right, boys. I guess I’ve finished—the powwow’s over.” He turned back to his desk. Teddy and Roy walked slowly out the door and into the yard.
“He’s worried, whether he admits it or not,” Roy declared when they were out of earshot. “If any more leave we’ll be in a nice fix.”
“Let’s see who’s around the bunk-house,” Teddy suggested. “Maybe Pop will be holding forth.”
He was right in this assumption. As they reached the bunk-house an argumentative voice came to them:
“You waddies think you’re so all-fired smart, wantin’ to hit the trail just ’cause some hombre picks up a pan of fool’s gold! Listen, an’ bend yore ears this-a-way. I may not be an expert at math-a-matics. I’m a leedle shy on geography. Sometimes I misspell a word—sometimes. But I do know somethin’ about minin’!”
“That’s Pop,” Teddy asserted. “He’s laying down the law!”
“I’ve seen fourteen rushes,” Pop went on, “in one place or ’nother. Fourteen! An’ in thirteen of ’em the boys came back licked. Done up, frazzled, socked in the nose! Savvy? Only one of ’em was successful!”
“Yea, but listen, Pop,” a voice interrupted. “We got proof! Didn’t that galoot show us the stuff? Didn’t he swear that a big strike had been made? Didn’t—”